The Second Portrait
by Xaviere Jade
Summary: Why does brilliantly wicked Dorain Gray fail to sink the Nautalus? How does he feel about reencountering Mrs. Harker? What if Mr. Gray was pulling the strings all along? Oneshot.


Authors Note: This is a one shot that was originally intended as an epic. It bares the original title with its own plot implications. I simply ran out of time, and unfortunately, it's been long enough to more or less guarantee that I can't go back. The original concept came from an attempt to fill plot holes I found in the movie and mistakes coming out of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_- that, and my unwavering devotion to Townsend's sinister Mr. Gray. I just couldn't see him being played for a fool. Growl.

The Second Portrait

Her hair shone in the flickering light as it fell, like a cataract of all consuming fire off her shoulders and the pillow, to pool between them. Dorian Gray stroked her barely revealed shoulder with one finger while listening to the quiet sighs of each breath. He would not begrudge her undisturbed sleep; both knew it was a rare pleasure when dreams all too often became wicked. He never slept anymore, but lying beside her made him feel whole again, almost. Still, they said all good things come to an end, especially life's rarities. He stretched and began to dress in the near dark, though always with an eye trained on the slumbering woman.

It had been a dirty trick, even by the standards of Dorian Gray. Ironic, that Morearty didn't even need her blood. He smiled at his elaborate ruse, a masterpiece even gullied into it. The man made up for in passion and greed that which he lacked in the mind. Dorian Gray lacked nothing. Vampiric assassins! What sort of imbecile believed such nonsense? Just let him see the would-be-victim join the ranks of the undead. Still, the world's powers might pay simply to see the technology contained; perhaps that was the reason Morearty took his suggestion to enlist Mina. Dorian Gray had other reasons.

She rolled over, still asleep; her lean thigh visible from under the light nightdress. Awake her modesty would take control immediately, but sleep refused to yield to normally dominant traits. The copper curtain drew away from her neck as she turned, exposing the old puncture wound. The last scar she carried was forbidden to living eyes. Testimony that she was still uncomfortable acknowledging her status amongst the undead; he had no such trouble. Undead, she became a match for an immortal.

Those who knew him only as an ordinary (or perhaps extraordinary) man of society, the mere boys who emulated his look and fashion, the elderly women who adored him, the girls who fawned over him, the men Lord Henry introduced long ago, held no more interest than pieces on his London chess board. Society was full of black and white, carved pawns that only moved when manipulated by another. They had long encouraged him to marry, once upon a time he considered the possibility. Lying beside a beautiful woman encouraged such idiocies. Sibyl Vane and Wilhelmina Harker, so utterly different. She admitted to loving him once, and he would like to love once too, for amusement at the very least. It could only be her. He did not want to leave this night, or this time; he would return after this inane farce with Morearty.

He stood, pulling on his jacket with his back turned to her. Instead, he observed his own reflection in the glass baubles and tubules of her chemistry equipment. Perfect, _par toujours_. Dorian Gray touched a lock of dark hair back into place. Curious, he could not see Mina in the glass, yet fitting. Ironic too that she still used a mirror when it would never again reveal her reflection; a pity really. She was beautiful, porcelain skin set with icy eyes that were the windows to her soul, like his painting.

He spoke too much of that too. Magnesium Phosphorous still glowed yellow in a purposely forgotten vile. A camera indeed; a bottle of formula stolen, a scratch of invisible skin and now her blood, useless as it was. He amazed even himself, just how close he came to revealing Morearty's secret little plan, although he consoled himself that Morearty's plan was of no consequence, compared with his own. He had said too much about the painting also, even while he lied. Strange, how one falsehood drew in the next. But, he was here and there were things yet to be set in motion.

He returned to her side, sitting on the bed, oddly large and lavish for one person. For a few moments, Dorian Gray inhaled her blood tainted sweetness, her gray quality. She was fully correct, he was selfish. One evening's manipulations stood as an analogy for his entire life. Here sat a man whom played for what he could when it amused him, took what he liked while it did and threw away the items that lost their value. There was only one hero in the room, and she slept on, hiding from her demons.

Dorian Gray tucked his handkerchief into its designated pocket and caressed her cheek. "You are so lovely," he whispered. Unfortunately, one can only stall for so long. Lackadaisically he lifted himself from the bed. Much as he liked to look, even he respected her coy nature and pulled the sheet over her. She took it in her hands, turning over again. Drawing the semi-transparent white curtains around the scalloped four poster, Dorian doffed his hat with a smile and left her to presumably pleasant dreams.

Casually strolling through the corridors was more effective than skulking. After collecting the briefcases in his own chambers, Dorian Gray wandered the ship from bow to stern. A shame to destroy such an artistic boat, he knew, however a necessary aspect of the plan. He held no remorse, especially not for the gentlemen of league. But the woman. Dorian Gray sighed, he thought again of Mina. He'd have time to retrieve her before running amuck with Morearty, besides she was immortal. Though if he returned late; 'besides' seemed a harsh word. They could not form a league of two if she ended up in the ocean's cerulean depths. He could ensure survival for the Nautilus which would not hinder his or Morearty's plans.

Knowing the League's strengths, they could escape most any peril put to them except instantaneous death. The explosion would still impress M out of any suspicion. After photographing the details of Nemo's vessel, he knew exactly how little breadth could exist between destruction and a nearly-but-not-quite fatal experience. The displacement of one bomb would be sufficient to accomplish his plans. Dorian Gray turned left, away from the nuclear core and back towards the engines. Two bombs in the same vicinity would significantly lessen their impact, without one in the nuclear core, the League would salvage their ship.

He passed by the meeting of Quatermain, Nemo and Sawyer, and lingered when Jeckyll announced the loss of his potion. Let them think Skinner had wronged them. Dorian Gray knew the invisible man would be the first scapegoat, that fact was ensured by his particular talent. Of unique men, let the unseen be first distrusted, he laughed.

XXXX

Slipping through the door to her room, silence informed him that she slumbered still. They had a precious few minutes of peace remaining before arrival in Venice and revelation of Morearty's plot. He parted the curtain around her and entered quietly, removed his jacket and laid it on the bed such that when the alarm came she'd believe he had just begun to dress. Lying down, he wrapped an arm around and brought her close. Her head fell gently onto his chest, as if in her sleeping world it belonged there. Vulnerabilities hid in waking become apparent in the peace of dreams. His eyes closed as his fingers crept into the red firestorm of her tresses.

A loud rap on the door ruined the silent pleasure of the moment. "What?" he queried sharply.

The youngest voice answered, achingly positive despite the shock of hearing another in the lady's quarters. "We're landing in Venice. Mr. Gray?"

"Very well."

After a pause Sawyer spoke again: "Is Mrs. Harker with you?"

Dorian Gray looked down, smiling at blue eyes just beginning to open against the white ruffles of his shirt, at a gentle face with a deadly purpose, at the prize he sought in this misbegotten venture. "She's right here."


End file.
